


The ones Above Us

by Midas_Or_Khaos



Series: The Ones Above Us [1]
Category: Original Work, g/t - Fandom, gianttiny - Fandom, macro - Fandom, macro/micro - Fandom, micro - Fandom, the ones above us
Genre: Angst, Chaos, G/T, Gen, Giants, Gods, M/M, Macro/Micro, Micro, Other, Shapeshifting, Size Difference, TINY - Freeform, feel good, giant tiny - Freeform, good parenting, macro, size shifter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midas_Or_Khaos/pseuds/Midas_Or_Khaos
Summary: What happens when a discovery of a lifetime is made, a discovery that could rewrite human history? Brilliant, correct?!But what happens when that discovery is not quite as dead as they thought it was? What happens when that discovery is something that should’ve stayed buried? Join us as we discover the life of the ones above us
Series: The Ones Above Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966549
Kudos: 5





	1. Unearth

**Author's Note:**

> I’m well aware I’m shit at descriptions. Please feel free to send over a better one.

**The Ones Above Us**

**Prologue**

**Device:-Sony Handycam DCR SR85**

**Input:-Film**

**Location:-Ireland Peat Bogs**

**Date:-September 2008**

**Time:-6:35.**

**Title:- YouTube vlog 68, metal detector finds.**

**Hi, everyone, it’s Neil again. Today on this lovely misty autumn morning we’re back on the peat bogs of Ireland for another early treasure hunting session. I’m here today with Mark- Mark say hi to the camera!**

**Hello everyone.**

**Mark’s here with me again afterrrrrr, err, god how long has it been?**

**Three or four months, give or take.**

**Three of four MONTHS. Bloooody hell. Well, it’s good to see you again. I hope you lot watching at home appreciate this too! God. Anyway, let’s get on with today’s episode. As you already know, these bogs are well known for harbouring very early bits of Celtic jewlery, coins, knives etcetera back from the Iron Age, so hopefully the peat will be kind to us, though probably not with these conditions, and our combined shit luck. Ground’s gonna be solid. Never mind.Mark, you ready to start?**

**Yep.**

**Great, let’s get started!**

How far the land goes on when undisturbed by human intervention, it almost makes the world seem endless from human perspective. Of course, these factors wouldn’t dampen the hopes of these history hunters, these foolhardy men. No, they knew what they desired lay within this earth they stood upon; this largely untapped treasure trove of history. And with miles of potential at their fingertips, where to begin?

**You start east, I’ll go west. Nice and easy, take your time.**

Heading west, Mark with crows feet beginning to form at his eyes and a steadying decline in an ability to accept change, lacked the years of experience his jovial east-bound counterpart possessed, but with at least seven previous sessions under his belt, easy to use equipment and an expert within earshot, nothing could go wrong, right? Just scan and dig, how hard could that be?

**Right, Mark’s gone east and while he’s off I’ll start with the introduction to the land we’re on because you never know when someone new is going to see our channel.**

Harder than either could have anticipated.

**Peat bogs form when plants don’t fully decay in acidic and anaerobic conditions. Anaerobic being a fancy word meaning without oxygen. Peat is made up of mainly wetland vegetation, like mosses, sedges, and shrubs. As it accumulates, the peat holds water which slowly creates wetter conditions that allow the area of wetland to expand. Despite now present conditions, these areas used to be land occupied by early human tribes and thus explains why you can find old jewellery, trinkets, even bodies sometimes, in these bogs despite them being uninhabitable now. And yes, you did hear me right, bodies. Well preserved bodies actually. Unlikely to find any of those though, seeing as we have metal detector and not a sniffer dog, Heh. Plus they’re usually found about a meter deep in the ground, and they blend so well that you probably wouldn’t recognise it as a body if you were just scanning the ground. Ah well, let’s keep going.**

Peat preserves bodies near perfectly, save for the flesh becoming black and having the texture of tanned old leather, plus the hair going bloody red: dyed from the acid. The mummy of Old croghan Man (who was discovered in these very bogs) was so perfectly preserved, that the first archaeologists whom discovered the corpse, disclosed after they finished that they felt queasy examining the remains, as the torso was still retaining the vivid wounds of severed flesh and a cut spinal cord frayed with ends of a thousand year old nervous system where the man had been decapitated and disemboweled violently after death. Bones are one thing, you can’t quite empathise with something lacking a familiar face and form. Seeing something so akin to a recent murder is quite another.

**NEIL!**

**Yeah!**

**NEIL! COME QUICK!**

**EYYYYY, looks like our amateur may yet be a masterrrrrrrrr! WHAT YOU FOUND?!**

**I DUNNO, BUT IT LOOKS WEIRD!**

Mark hadn’t gotten far at all, barely a few yards; today was a lucky day indeed for the pair. Jogging over, letting his own excitement bleed through, Neil was by Mark’s side in a moments' notice with a full blown grin, gums peaking through. What could it be?! Pointing to a nearly glowing spot in the earth that seemed to reflect the moody sky with its blinding bright whiteness, the two kneeled down together to look further.

**Neil, where’s the spade?**

**Here! You dig first, it’s your find.**

Being handed the spade, Mark began stabbing the rock solid earth, frozen through as all that trapped water became solid ice.

**COME ON!**

They should’ve bothered more with chipping away at diamond, might’ve made more progress then the two were now. These tools were inefficient. This piece of history didn’t want to come out.

**We got anything else, Neil?**

**I’ve got a chisel?**

**Let’s have a go.**

It was time for harsher methods. Neil marked the spot with the chisel tipped in a minor dip in the earth. Mark became the hammer. STAMP! Nothing. STAMP! Still nothing. SSSSSSSTTTTTTAAAAAMMMMMMPPPPP- CRACK! A fault burst open like a spider’s web. Small, but there.

**YES! Keep stamping!**

There was no stopping now. So close now! Uncovering buried treasure like the archeologists of Egypt finding their next greatest discovery. Would it be silver? Gold? A rarity beyond material that could shake the very foundations of history as we know it?!

SPLIT! At long last, the earth shattered beneath the determination of man. The unnoticeable became revealed. Flesh. Bone white flesh so large, the pattern that made up the texture of skin could be seen clear as day. They’d found a corpse  
  


**...Mark, call the police.**


	2. The make up of a monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A team has been collected to unearth the beast from below, but what is this beast? And how can it’s reflection to humanity be so uncanny?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna try and make art of some of the scenes at some point. You’ll be seeing a lot more of Arthur and Fatima in future chapters.

**The Ones Above Us. Chapter 1**

**Date:- September 30th, 2008, 14 days after initial discovery.**

**Time:- 18:42 pm**

**Location:- Ireland Peat Bogs**

Flicking a cheap Poundland lighter, sparks spat in the morbid matt of a pure black atmosphere out on location in the back arse of nowhere (somewhere far off Ireland’s version of the M6 he’d been told). Winter winds were of the worst kind: didn’t matter how far inland you made it, or how thick the walls on your house were, they traversed the land with albatross wings wide and undaunted by what they came into contact with, smacking into any surface with no regards to slowing down. They didn’t seem to have any regard for detective Arthur Fleming‘s Malboro either, a stiff left hand shaking at the switch, and the right vainly trying to create shelter for the cigarette.

“For FUCK sake.” Singed fingertips for his troubles.

“Serves you right. No smoking on the job detective, you know better.”

Head Forensic Pathologist Fatima Alvi. A 4’9 willowy thing with a short, plump bob, damn near bobblehead proportions and a tendency to get right under his fucking skin like the irritating shit she was. She’d succeeded young and now all that arrogance she hadn’t quite worked out her system from (what should be mandatory in his opinion) the hard labour of working up the social ladder had only boosted her tendency to tighten her favourite black brogues far too tight, straighten her back like a bloody ballerina and fix that rod she’d shoved up her arse however many years ago a little bit deeper.

“I’m ten yards from the sodding site and wrapped in a white, walkable body bag, I think we can both agree me being over here isn’t going to tamper with shit. And not to challenge ur dictatorship, luv, but you’ve got winged lashes big enough to take off under those goggles o’ yours. Now you go back under those useless gazebos, and I’ll happily freeze my arse off out here.” Turning back round to face the empty, Arthur cursed himself for getting a 4 buzz cut rather than a short back and sides a week ago.

Fatima despised this part of the job. Working with middle-aged, greying twats like this one that clearly hated their jobs, but seemed to have this vendetta against the mere mention of career change. Yes, she was aware as you age, getting a new job gets harder. Surprise though, so did being fresh out of uni. Life sends these little tests to fuck us all over, not just you mate. Must be the bitter taste of Thatcher’s rule that’s left him slow to change. Scarred from the days when not having a job meant not eating, full stop. Doesn’t give the trout-mouthed, once-upon-a-time aryan flag pole a reason to snap like Chihuahua. 

“Why don’t you stop trying to get your next sad excuse for a hit from nicotine, and come over here and do your actual fucking job?”

“No respect.” Muttered Arthur to himself, giving up on his lost cause and unzipping the top half of his polymer suit to shove the cigarette into his oversized shirt pocket.

Finally the standing misery addressed the stout woman face to face, a shaking clinging to each syllable, “What the hell d’you need me for? It’s obvious this isn’t a normal murder case, IF we’re even call it a murder case. I mean for god sake, Fatima, the grave is over 50 feet long! Whatever we’re uncovering obviously isn’t a human, it’s a fucking dinosaur! Why am I here in the back-arse of all points nowhere, rather than a load of archaeologists?”

“Because what we’ve found so far isn’t making sense, and last time anyone checked, dinosaurs were fossilised. BONES, detective, not skin. This body is so fresh, there’s absolutely no decay at all! That’s impossible. Then there’s the skin, it hasn’t even been stained by acid or mud, like the skin is coated in some hydrophobic matter. None of this should be possible.” A sigh slipped the last of Fatima’s adrenaline-fuelled spitting out, she was tired. Tired of him, tired of working, tired of being in the cold. “Look, personally I think this is probably an elaborate hoax some twat on YouTube with a fringe or whatever has decided to plant in a well known historic location for views. The arseholes will probably be waiting for the news report on TV so they can have a laugh at our expense. None of this is natural, and frankly it’s starting to look ridiculous. However, so long as our shitty superiors believe this to be a murder case we stick to finding out how this thing died, understood?”

Scathing way of saying it, But a hoax was something Arthur was desperate to cling to. Of course, this was nothing but staged and faked beyond belief! None of this could be real. Give credit where credit’s due though, the bell-ends that did this were thorough. Tutting, Arthur knew he couldn’t argue his case anymore, and started to strut off on those stilts for legs back to the beams of spotlights, Fatima trotting along after him just to keep up.

“Glad to see you’re helping.”

“Just talk to me about what’s going on so we’ll be able to document this and go back to the hostel.” Spat Arthur in retaliation. He hated this job. These people. But most importantly, that thing.

Entering through the only available entrance, the two nearly ran into another detective. Useless idiot. Despite this temporary flimsy building being the size of a football field, there was barely enough space among the number of personnel of all ranks and professions, technology, storage facilities and dig sights to separate the wood from the leaves. To add to the misery, despite being as frosty inside as it was outside, the scent of dank earth and petrol from the excavation diggers still managed to permeate the trapped air. God it stunk.

Taking on a note of interest as she got into her element, Fatima called out as she moved out the way, “Right, so we are at the feet end, and up there at the other end of the canopy is our head. We’re going there first because that’s what the two witnesses found during their initial dig.”

Taking off briskly, the forensic pathologist seemed unfazed by the sheer size of the foot sticking out like a meteorite fallen to earth just a couple of meters from the entrance, not even gracing the thing a glance. Arthur had no such laissez-faire-attitude, frozen in tunnel vision. This is why he didn’t wanna come back in. The damn toes had the familiar, unique swirling pattern of calloused skin seen on humans, and blotches of brown that must’ve been freckles, as they lacked the blotchy, wet texture of mud. Veins passing like eels under ice became exposed near the epidermis, shining icy blue. On an intellectual level, the aged detective knew a foot his height in length couldn’t possibly exist in the real world. If they did, someone would’ve surely reported such a sighting.

On a primal level, instinct was sending adrenaline shooting to his heart, and his lungs could scarcely fill themselves in time to keep up with the demand of oxygenated blood. Those feet looked too alive. The raw power those hands must posses, accompanying such ginormous feet! All of it reminded him of his honeymoon with his wife on Safari, watching a pack of saltwater crocodiles descend in a snapping furry upon shared prey, crushing a zebra’s skull in its death roll, red and bloodied teeth and palate facing the animal’s terror-struck gaze whilst it still vainly screamed for its herd to come to its aid. The vocal cords snapped, eventually silencing under the sheer force of those jaws collectively ripping the head off n one piece. Two crocodiles sent the thing flying twelve feet in the air in pure territorial aggression, neither caring that they’d just murdered another being, before the Wiley victory went after the splattering mess to claim its prize. None of the herd even dared approach the brutality. Would these others do the same if he were captured? Would they leave him to the beast?

“Arthur, c’mon.”

Back to reality. “Sorry.”

Just focusing on Fatima’s back seemed to do the trick, heart rate levelling out below 100bpm. Don’t look round and it won’t be there. Arthur didn’t have it in himself to self scold for such a ridiculous reaction; he knew he should’ve stayed outside.

Still set on her headlong track, Fatima chose to not bother with looking back and risk painfully smacking into some poor soul, so delegated talking to the air in front of herself, hoping he heard her through the ruckus around them. “The head hasn’t decayed, following suit to rest of the currently exposed limbs, though there does appear to be damage. Face appears to be male, middle-aged 35 to 50’s. Noticeable marks being three precise third degree burns across the face resembling a striped pattern. No sign of healing or breakdown within the exposed areas either, which would suggest the burns were created after death.”

“Has anyone tested a sample of skin to see why there’s no breakdown?”

“We tried, but every single time someone has come in with a scalpel to remove a piece, once removed from the body the entire piece seems to crumble instantly to a fine blue dust and disappear.”

“What, Like Indiana Jones style? We found the crusader knight?”

“Please try and take this seriously Arthur, I wouldn’t mention our findings if they were false.” Tutted Fatima.

Arthur knew he was deflecting to shield himself. “I am. Can we at least try collecting the dust?”

“No use, I meant it when I said everything disappears.”

“So anything we test or observe must be on the body at all times or it’s essentially worthless?”

“Correct.”

Well that made everything just that little bit harder. JUST! They’d been reduced to the detective abilities of the bloody Edwardian period. No testing beyond what could be extracted from the soil (and judging by the lack of messy bodily fluids, the thing probably didn’t have any), and they had yet to uncover the rest of the body to see if there were any signs of obvious trauma that would account the reason behind the death. This was going to take forever. Every waking moment in this shithole was a second wasted. Whoever made this thing was one sick fuck.

“If I ever find the shitheads responsible for this prank, I’m gonna hand em a fucking life sentence. The law be damned.”

Just missing a collision with another photographer, the head finally came into full view. Even from this vantage point above ground, the thing didn’t seem small in any way. If he’d thought the foot was massive, the head was a new beast entirely upon its own pedestal. Surprisingly peaceful for a dead person, no expressions of pain or strain, just a suspiciously perfect sullen face (aside the burns of course). Knotted, greying-blond hair splayed out in dregs from the skull like old depictions of the sun’s rays, haloing the face and drawing you to the pair of closed lids. He wasn’t pretty by any standard, Arthur vainly self-noted. Weak chin jutting thin lips out from the round face, a high hairline accentuating the large forehead and a heavy brow ridge. If he weren’t the size of a four story building and significantly burnt, he’d have been extraordinary ordinary. Forgettable even. The detective knew he shouldn’t be saying that. It was a ‘victim’ after all.

“If we can’t remove any body parts, can we perhaps open the body up instead and take samples of anything inside the stomach, lungs, chest cavity etcetera?”

A grimace pulled at the woman’s lips, marring her usually stoic face, “Already done it, we had Liam go inside with a contamination dry suit whist you were outside. It’s the kind of stuff sewage divers wear at human waste plants.”

Arthur couldn’t help turning his own nose up at the prospect as well, shuffling unconsciously just a little further away. “And?”

“There were important pieces missing. A full, undisturbed respiratory system: lungs, trachea, the works. Oddly, absolutely no digestive or reproductive organs what so ever. Weirder yet, there were no signs of sabotage or surgical removal, it was like they were never there in the first place. What really caught my eye on the camera feed was that he had, what we think, are a series of air sacks integrated along the connection between the lungs and the diaphragm.”

“Meaning?”

Poor Fatima was looking at Arthur like she was trying to explain how to use the toilet to a three year old, a strong side eye from her place parallel to him

“MEANING this thing had an incredibly resourceful breathing mechanism.”

“So no basic necessary functions like the need to eat and reproduce, but a top quality breathing system. And you wonder why I’m not taking any of this seriously? Why couldn’t we just send a report saying it was a hoax and save time? It technically doesn't even come under the scientific detention of alive.”

“Well certainly not now it doesn’t.” Arthur gave his own stink eye back.

“... Look, why don’t we try and get the body transferred over to London? Our proper, large-scale testing equipment will be at our fingertips, and we’d be able to at least stick this problem on some stupid lab rats and be done with it, what d’you say?”

Fatima finally stopped half-hearting her disgust to focus on Arthur face to face. “Arthur, where d’you think that kind of space and discreetness would be possible in the middle of London city? This body is over fifty feet all, we wouldn’t even be able to keep it cool enough to stop potential decay-“

Arthur butted in, “- This thing has been out the ground for two weeks, Fatima, and hasn’t so much as lost a hair naturally. We don’t need to worry about decay. Yes, transferring the body would disturb the ‘crime scene’, but if we get this thing sent off as archeological dig remains, the disturbance won’t matter, and we’d be off the case. I don’t wanna be stuck with this shit anymore, do you?” Was he sounding too desperate?

She knew she shouldn’t mention it, not to herself and DEFINITELY not Arthur, but within her selfish consciousness, Fatima couldn’t agree with that. This may be a hoax to Arthur, but all these findings were starting to settle saplings in the garden of her imagination. These Findings weren’t Styrofoam cut outs painted with acrylic, nor were they polymer clay held together over a skeleton. whatever material this was, it was unlike anything she’d seen before. Maybe all this was a hoax, maybe all this was a waste of time.

But secretly, she wished it wasn’t.

“...I’ll see what I can do.”


	3. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check your security cameras, because you’re not always certain what’s moving at night.

The Ones Above Us, Chapter 2

Date:- November 5th, 2008, 37 days after initial discovery.  
Time:- 18:42pm  
Location:- London, Victoria And Albert Museum

“It’s nearly 7, Fatima. Can we please call it a night?”

“Siobhan, you were the one that explicitly said you wanted to stay longer so you’d be ahead for tomorrow when the coroner visits. If you wanna gawk at the celebration of some medieval king-“

“-Jacobean-“ Siobhan interrupted.

“-Jacobean king not dying, then be my guest. I have stuff to do.”

Thank god for the Cast Courts room. Yes, the air was so musty you could taste the varnish eroding from the planked floor, and yes the room was cold enough to freeze your nipples off, but it was huge AND tall. The undertaking it must’ve been to remove some 200 plaster statues ranging from simple busts to replicas of temple columns must’ve triggered at least a couple of premature deaths. Or at least a heart attack at the mere prospect. What probably finished off the rest of the crew and budget manager for the museum along with the mayor of London was the fact that a whole wall had to come down. 

A whole wall.

This building has 5 separate floors and is well over 100 years old, and somehow the manager (Mrs Stevens, lovely woman) leading our excavation had managed to convince who knows how many people to tear apart one of the most historic buildings in all of England. Maybe the world. Just for me and the autopsy team to have easier access to research facilities for this behemoth. 

Worth every penny and hurdle.

Currently the body was in a ninety degree sitting position, back to the fire exits and feet to the pillared entrance across the ballroom floor. Scaffolding was up to the head, high enough you could touch the textured ceiling with your own hands, and went round in a full three-sixty degrees. Parts that weren’t being worked on were covered by opaque, plastic sheets (mostly for the visitors tomorrow, though I suspect the cleaning staff were much appreciative of them too). Fatima and Siobhan were by the right eye, pinned open by clamps, taking photos through the keyhole pupil under beams of awful white, overhead lighting. After this visit tomorrow she was going to sit down the staff running this museum and ask them what made them think an overhead beam was a great idea in any situation, and if any of them had ever held a camera before.

Siobhan huffed, water vapour steaming the air. As an add on, maybe asking for some heating would do some good as well, old buildings really weren’t designed with insulation in mind. 

“Well, weren’t you the one who said to me this was all a hoax? You change your mind that quick? I get that I’m not actually in the autopsy department like your high and mightiness, but even I can see that’s some piss poor work you’re doing here if you can’t make a definite decision on what that thing actually is. Take a break otherwise you’ll be scraping the bottom of the barrel tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine for tomorrow, that’s not your problem.”

Siobhan didn’t forget that Fatima wasn’t challenging her former accusation, just avoiding it poorly. The older historian wanted to say something, but their relationship was still on the cusp of blooming from colleagues to friends. Any form of open defiance at this stage would kill it at the roots. Electing a less powerful show of disappointment, the ginger instead leaned back on her leg and crossed her arms. The universal judgment pose.

“Do what you want, Fatima, but you need to make up your mind if this thing is legitimate or not by tomorrow, ‘cause they’re gonna be unimpressed if you can’t give a definitive answer. And not to rain on your parade of hyperfixiation, cause from here it looks shit, but some of us want to see our family.” And with that Mike drop, the ample woman took her leave.

Fatima didn’t look up from the back aching crouch she was in, too focused on her subject as kitten heels clinked against metal metal steps, and a nasty mutter about wearing ‘the wrong fucking shoes to work’ whispered out into the cavernous room.

“Whatever.” She muttered to herself.

Standing up straight, the sharp stab of wincing aches creaking along her spine. Note to self, don’t lean over unsupported for more that twenty seconds. The shots from this angle must’ve at least revealed something: the two lenses (one for blocking reflective uv light, the other a microscope) were the best in the business. But what was she looking for inside the pupil you may ask?

“Now THAT’S interesting.”

The retina, exposed to light, came alive under the camera. Cone cells, rod cells, pigment epithelium. But what were those? Bolts of neon blue, flashing like those firefly squid from that Attenborough episode last week. Veins? No too reflective for that, they’d blind you at the right angle. A specialised system for night vision? Sure it wasn’t human by ratio and lacking organs, but the body held all the cells necessary for coloured vision as we know it, meaning that it probably lacked good night vision naturally, and these unusual veins were a cure for that. No. That can’t be, even under the microscope there was no signs indicating that the structure was made of any kind of cells. Was this thing a huge cell? 

“Maybe we should see if we can cut one end so that it’s still attached to the body and try to put it under a much stronger microscope tomorrow.” 

RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shite. What’s it this time?

Pulling her Nokia out her back pocket, flipping over the top, a resounding “FATIMA!” Called out. Crap. Family.

“Hello Mum-”

“WHERE ARE YOU?! IT’S LATE, YOU SHOULD BE HERE WITH THE FAMILY! DO YOU NOT LOVE US?!”

Why could she say that? “Of course I love you, I just have so much work-“

“NO! NO MORE WORK! COME HOME NOW, YOU NEED REST!” That’s the final straw that will break the camel’s back. Even an utterance more will turn the fine balance into madness.

“... I’ll pack up now.”

“GOOD, SEE YOU SOON FATIMA!”

Click.

The process of packing up on a usual evening would stretch to around thirty minutes. Putting away equipment, locking up, turning off the lights and signing out. She did it in fifteen. You don’t argue with mum.

Walking with purpose to the fire exit corridor leading out, the last light overhead her work shone like a halo over that much more grim sight now that she had a chance to sit back and examine the scene. He looked like a prop from a Saw film set, eyes pinned wide and shocked, completely opposed to the frowning mouth and waxy skin. Even in the heat of rushing round, Fatima couldn’t help but be drawn back to her work. What would those cells look like in full darkness? The switch sat taunting to her left, just calling to her. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see? 

Slowly reaching over, almost as if she felt she was being judged for her actions by some unknown force past or present, the raised edge stood stiff against her shaking fingertip. Why was she shaking, there’s no one here to judge her! If anything, the universe should be thankful for her contribution to the pursuit of scientific advancement and the first unveiling of a fact long dead. This was just one step closer to understanding.

CLICK

...Sigh.

“Stupid, getting excited over nothing.”

The back entrance slammed with a resounding slam onto a ratty backstreet lit by LED lampposts. Bloody waste of time.

Time 19:07pm. The doors would be reopened in precisely nine hours and fifty three minutes. Nothing should be moving from this point onwards.

All this fuss over something that she should’ve just taken as a hoax all along.

Time 21:30pm. The doors will be reopened in precisely Six hours and thirty minutes. Nothing should be moving at this point.

She’d told that arsey detective so herself, now look at her going back on her own words.

Time 23:47pm. The doors will be reopened in precisely Five hours and thirteen minutes. Night vision cameras 674 and 676 activated for one minute and five seconds on west wing on the outside building. Movement: minor. Decision: ignore. Nothing should be moving at this point. 

This thing was clearly not real, not in any way. The cube law theory explained that.

Time 01:08am. The doors will be reopened in precisely Three hours and fifty two minutes. Night vision cameras 43, 45, 41 and 40 activated for two minutes in Cast Courts Hall. Movement: minor. Decision: ignore. Nothing should be moving at this point. 

Nothing humanoid COULD get that big.  
Time 01:59am. The doors will be reopened in precisely Three hours and one minute. Night vision cameras 43, 45, 41 and 40 activated for five minutes in Cast Courts Hall. Movement: major. Decision: call security. Something is moving at this point.

Looking out the windows of the family bungalow, cheering echoing outside at the neon lit sky, everything makes sense here. Everything can be explained by science. So this thing couldn’t have ever been alive.

Right?

ERROR: CAMERAS COMPROMISED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not getting the next part out sooner uni work piled in. I’m gonna be busier with this over crimbo. This chapter is shorter but is necessarily so, and these first couple chapters are important cus even though we’re meeting a lot of characters they’re gonna be here for the long run, promise. I know I’m writing a lot about biology but trust me, it’s necessary for the long run. All I’m writing is gonna be important down the line so remember it!


End file.
